"When she wakes in the mornin' she ses to 'erself, 'Good things is goin'
to come to-day--cheerfle things.' When there's a knock at the door she
ses, 'Somethin' friendly's comin' in.' An' when Drunken Bet's makin' a
row an' ragin' an' tearin' an' threatenin' to 'ave 'er eyes out of 'er
fice, she ses, 'Lor, Bet, yer don't mean a word of it--yer a friend to
every woman in the 'ouse.' When she don't know which way to turn, she
stands still an' ses, 'Speak, Lord, thy servant 'eareth,' an' then she
does wotever next comes into 'er mind--an' she says it's allus the
right answer. Sometimes," sheepishly, "I've tried it myself--p'raps it's
true. I did it this mornin' when I sat down an' pulled me sack over me
'ead on the bridge. Polly 'd been cryin' so loud all night I'd got a
bit low in me stummick an'--" She stopped suddenly and turned on Dart
as if light had flashed across her mind. "Dunno nothin' about it," she
stammered, "but I SAID it--just like she does--an' YOU come!"

Plainly she had uttered whatever words she had used in the form of a
sort of incantation, and here was the result in the living body of this
man sitting before her. She stared hard at him, repeating her words:
"YOU come. Yes, you did."

"It was the answer," said Miss Montaubyn, with entire simplicity as she
bit off her thread, "that's wot it was."

Antony Dart lifted his heavy head.

"You believe it," he said.

"I 'm livin' on believin' it," she said confidingly. "I ain't got
nothin' else. An' answers keeps comin' and comin'."